People can do everything right and still lose

In professional life, it remains a challenging concept to accept that a well-reasoned decision does not always yield the expected outcome. Despite our understanding of this principle, we often fail to act upon it. When a deal goes through, we tend to assume the strategy was sound. Conversely, when a business encounters difficulties, it is relatively easy to pinpoint what the founder should have done differently.

Promotions are often attributed to performance, while failures leave us questioning what one may have lacked. The outcome frequently becomes the evidence, a flawed method of judging a decision. Throughout my career, I have witnessed strong proposals fail for reasons that bore little resemblance to the proposal itself. The opposing party may have an established relationship.

Internal stakeholders may favor an alternative vendor. Budget fluctuations can also play a role. In certain instances, the decision may have been largely predetermined before the final meeting took place. Conversely, I have observed the opposite scenario. Average preparation, questionable assumptions, serendipitous timing, and still, the result managed to turn out in the right direction.

Most of us would prefer effort, judgment, and outcome to remain closely interconnected. It simplifies understanding. Work diligently, prepare thoroughly, make reasonable choices, and the result should eventually follow. However, there are too many uncontrollable variables to consider. Markets fluctuate, people change their minds, organizations undergo restructuring, a carefully hired employee may not perform as expected, a role deemed suitable may prove to be entirely wrong, a good product may arrive at an inopportune time, and a company can make several judicious decisions yet still face financial ruin.

None of this negates the importance of accountability. However, attributing every failure to bad luck would be as misguided as claiming every success validates good judgment. The critical distinction lies between the quality of the decision and the quality of the result. Given the knowledge available at the time, was this a judicious choice?

Did I ask the pertinent questions? Did I comprehend the potential pitfalls? Was I dismissing information due to personal preferences? Was I merely making a judgment or simply hoping for the best? These questions provide more insight than mere success or failure. This distinction becomes increasingly important as responsibility deepens.

At the early stages of one's career, the primary focus is on execution. Do the work diligently. Deliver when promised. Follow through. As one ascends to senior roles, the decisions become more complex, often involving choices where the definitive answer remains elusive. Which market merits investment? Which customer should we sever ties with?

Which individuals should we hire? How long should we continue supporting a venture that is not yielding results? Should we proceed with the existing business or embark on creating something new? If the answer were straightforward, it would not necessitate much judgment. And these decisions are frequently made before all the information is at hand.

A commercial leader can renounce a client whose economic viability is questionable, only to watch a competitor secure the account the following week. A founder can reject an investor who is evidently the wrong fit, only to grapple with raising funds for another six months. Judged solely by the subsequent events, both decisions might seem foolish.

This is where organizations may encounter trouble. Companies often profess the desire for individuals to assume ownership, make decisions, and think entrepreneurially. Yet, if every unsuccessful decision is subsequently viewed as evidence of poor judgment, individuals quickly internalize this message. They become hesitant to make difficult decisions.

They opt for defensible ones. This is where organizations can face significant challenges. There is a fine line between expecting people to take ownership while simultaneously anticipating every decision they make to succeed. What truly matters is the soundness of the thinking. What information was accessible? What assumptions were being made?

Were the risks recognized? Was somebody taking a calculated risk, or simply being reckless? If organizations fail to differentiate between these aspects, they inadvertently cultivate managers who excel at evading blame. A similar personal predicament exists. A setback can transition from an event to a self-assessment. Losing an account may lead one to question the continued efficacy of one's skills.

A venture's failure prompts the question, “What went wrong?” to evolve into “Am I capable of achieving this?” A rejection that could have multiple explanations is reduced to the one that inflicts the most pain. This is where outcomes acquire an undue level of authority. Not every setback contains a clear explanation. Sometimes, after meticulously dissecting the decision, the conclusion proves less gratifying.

You made a reasonable call. It did not materialize. The narrative becomes messier. Confidence may wane, one may adopt excessive caution, or irritation may prevail. Sometimes, a decision lingers much longer than it should. And sometimes, the greater risk lies not in the setback itself but in what it may induce. One ill-advised hire can transform a thoughtful leader into a suspicious one.

One failed partnership can make every subsequent partner appear perilous. One poor investment can render someone so conservative that they miss out on far more promising opportunities later. Not all lessons gleaned from experience constitute wisdom. At times, we simply react to what inflicted pain in the past. This, to me, underscores the significance of resilience.

Not as the belief that everything will ultimately work out. It will not. Not as a compulsion to find meaning in every disappointment. And not as preordained growth.